


Waste

by ThoughtsCascade



Series: Praise replaces Pain [2]
Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Angst, M/M, Neuroatypical Characters, POV Second Person, Pre-Canon, Sex as self punishment, Trans Male Character, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 11:54:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10386096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoughtsCascade/pseuds/ThoughtsCascade
Summary: You stalk off towards his bedroom. He follows behind you. If you were willing to wait longer, you’d turn it into an argument, throw out a comment about how he’s always trailing behind you. But you remain silent.





	

It’s unhealthy, but what in your life isn’t?

You’re a Terrible Person. You know that, almost everyone who talks to you knows that. Even if they don’t, they figure it out sooner or later.

You don’t want to be, but you are. You figure you might as well show it, be terrible to everybody before they can get too close and be disappointed. Save everybody the waste of time. Hurt them before they hurt you.

It would be okay if you weren’t a Good Person, except you also aren’t good enough. If you were smarter, more creative, more innovative, better, you think the fact you’re Bad could be excused.

But you aren’t. So you really have no excuse.

So yeah, you have a really unhealthy relationship with sex. And most other things.

And you just generally can’t stand yourself.

But hey, no one else can stand you either, so it works.

So you stand outside his door, waiting for your phone to hit 8:15 so you can knock.

You remember when this started. You were both...exceedingly drunk. You still feel somewhat bad for that.

_Ronnie had arranged for you to go drinking with him, Caitlin, Cisco, and a few others. The others almost unanimously decided to not come after hearing you would be there. Ronnie is the only one still foolish enough to invite you to anything non-work related._

_Of course, Caitlin isn’t fond of you, and Cisco can’t stand you, so it was really you and Ronnie talking about one thing and Cisco and Caitlin about another. Whenever Ronnie tried to merge the conversations one of three things happened. Either he would be rebuffed, it would work but you just stopped talking, or you and Cisco started arguing._

_Eventually, Caitlin got drunk enough that Ronnie decided to take her home. He offered you a ride, but you were still sober enough you were able to convince him you’d call a cab once you finished the drink you were on._

_You were expecting Cisco to leave with them, but apparently he had a hand in choosing this venue because it was close enough he could walk._

_You stay, hoping to outwait him so you could go flirt with one of the many single men in their forties or so who lingered around the bar. Either he’d be into men and you’d get laid, or he’d be homophobic and you’d get beat up. You would honestly be fine with either. If he wasn’t either of those things and politely rejected you? Well, rinse and repeat._

_He. Isn’t. Leaving._

_He isn’t sitting by you, but you are more than aware he’s still here._

_Eventually you get pretty drunk. He seems slightly worse off than you, considering he actually_ **_approaches_** _you._

_And proceeds to punch you right in the face. Which you don’t dodge because, honestly, you deserve it._

_You throw out some comment about enjoying it, because isn’t that always your reaction? Turn things you don’t know how to deal with into something sexual?_

  _Then, of course, the security guys come over._

_Good thing you’re extraordinarily good at faking sobriety. Thanks, Queen. Who knew him smuggling alcohol and using peer pressure to get you to drink it before parties thrown by his parents or yours would actually come in useful?_

_“Oh, don’t worry, it’s fine, I know him,” you explain. All technically true._

_One of the remembers you two arrived together, mentions Caitlin and Ronnie._

_You wince apologetically, say you’re leaving now._

_Just then, Cisco notices you’re bleeding and starts blurting apologies. An emotional drunk. Great._

_You manage to get him to his apartment, you shooting a few more lines about liking it until suddenly. Sex. That part’s admittedly a blur._

_As are the next few times._

_Until._

_One day, Cisco walks into your office._

_“We’re having sex.”_

_You consider saying ‘Oh? Why didn’t you tell me, I’d have locked the door.’_

_Instead you simply raise an eyebrow._

_He flushes. Then he explains. Says it’s a pain to have to come out for a one night stand, but since you already know you’re having sex with him._

_You sigh a long-suffering sigh. “Stay until I leave and I’ll take you to my place and we can after work.” You say. He nods._

_And from then on, it becomes A Thing._

You lost track of time. You take out your phone, glance at it. 8:17. You notice your frown and attempt to school your face into something more neutral, then knock at his apartment door.

It takes him a minute or so to answer, so you don’t feel as bad about technically being late.

He asks if you want food, and you can’t help but shoot him a Look. 

It’s as if he thinks you can’t take care of yourself. You’ve been doing it for a third of your life, ever since your parents kicked you out at sixteen. Yet every time he’s at your house, he asks how you live without food that matches _his standards._ Just because everybody isn’t a cook…

And every time you’re here, he offers you food.

You know you’re being somewhat irrational.

That’s part of why you need this, if you’re being honest.

Your mind just gets out of control sometimes. Too much. You need a simple, easy thing to focus on. Meditation makes things worse, and you can’t really bring yourself to focus on any one thing.

Pain is a nice one though. It lasts even after it’s happening. You generally initiate right as the last of your bruises are fading.

 Not to mention, pain is something you deserve. And who better to dole it out than someone you cause distress on a distressingly regular basis?

You used to just hurt yourself, but you found it’s _so much better_ when someone else does it. You always hesitate, hold back. Others have no such conniptions.

It isn’t even about the sex for you, though you’ll admit Cisco...isn’t bad looking.

It’s just easier to explain away ‘kinks’ than ask someone to outright beat you up. You’re more likely to get it too.

Not that he ever asks.

You stalk off towards his bedroom. He follows behind you. If you were willing to wait longer, you’d turn it into an argument, throw out a comment about how he’s always trailing behind you. But you remain silent.

You take off your shoes, leaving them by the door. 

He follows you, begins undressing you.

You notice he takes care to not hit or press against your glasses as he pulls your vest over your head. He also folds it. You appreciate both those things. Not that you’d ever admit it.

He unbuttons your shirt then pushed you onto the bed. You swallow, offering no resistance.

You feel like you’re practically vibrating with the need for it, it’s been Too Long, and you should really have better self control than this, but the fact you don’t is another reason you need this.

No, wait. Yeah, you’re literally shaking. You begin grinding against his leg, because it’s there and also will hopefully cover up the shaking. You feel almost the way you’d characterize an addict, sometimes.

After a second or two, he puts his hands on your waist. That stops you cold.

“Good,” he mutters. You can’t stop the surprise from showing, although you quickly conceal it. You almost never talk during sex with him. And while he’s somewhat more likely to talk, it’s never anything positive like that.

Then he just...kneels there. Looking at you.

It’s honestly Really Uncomfortable.

You never liked people staring at you unless that was what you were going for. Actually, you’re pretty sure you’re more sensitive to it than most people. One of the many joys to growing up under the watchful eyes of the media and caretakers hired by parents who didn’t give a damn. Not to mention the _parties._

You bite your lip to resist commenting, and take it as long as you can, thoughts racing. _He’s going to leave, this is a bad idea, he hates me and I’m letting him do whatever he wants and I don’t deserve this because I’m worthless WORTHLESS can’t do anything I need to correctly including this and-_

Finally, after a small eternity he begins moving again. He begins kissing you, starting just above your jeans and working his way up.

He specifically kisses your bruises and cuts, which is...odd. He’s occasionally pressed them, trying to make things as painful as possible, but not kissed them. Not like this, not... _gently._

He’s up to something.

You’re have a dreadful feeling you won’t like it. It’ going to _mess you up, not be right, be more than you deserve and less than you need, want, crave, desire._

He reaches your neck and you tilt your head back. He kisses your neck. You can’t help but gasp because _shit._ It’s been so long since you’ve had anything even remotely resembling healthy intimacy you forgot just how much you enjoyed that. You try to cut it off because you _know_ what he’s doing and you want him to Quit It.

Then, _let there be mercy_ , he begins _talking._

“You know,” he's acting like you aren't pinned half naked under him, as if it's the weather or some other such stereotypical drivel, what's he playing at? “I’ve been having some doubts. I’m not sure you’re nearly as much an ass as you pretend to be.”

You shoot him a 'Get On With It' look. Seriously, he hasn't ever been the type to pause midway through. Not as much as he is today, anyways.

He gives you a grin now. “My family lives in Keystone, did you know that? Actually, my doctor’s office is there too.” Seriously, what the fuck is he getting at? Well, not fucking, that's for sure. “So one day, while I was waiting-this was a week or two after I joined up at STAR Labs?- I picked up their form that they have, with all the classes given by volunteers? Guess who’s name I saw? Teaching an ASL class on Saturdays?”

He isn't supposed to know that. You chose Keystone because you figured no one would see it because they aren't supposed to know because that isn't the type of thing you do-

You manage to get a hold of yourself. He says something about waiting for an answer and he's still staring at you and

Focus.

You think back to the question. Yes. You nod. He doesn't respond. You internally sigh, then give the affirmative verbally.

Then he just continues. Good. Means you probably hid that well enough. Can't show him just how…

 You can only play off zoning out so many times. Sensations.

This is actually nice. You'd forgotten just how nice sex, real sex without the hatred and anger and pent up aggression could be.

Soon you're making futile attempts to get some friction because fuck, he's being a tease.

You just want to get off now.

He's still keeping you down, still. You may or may not make some noises.

Then he starts talking again.

Okay, it's about your flute playing. You're actually pretty proud of that. Really proud of it, if you're honest.

Music is the one thing in your life that's Pure, untainted. Your parents had no use for it, but you managed to convince them to let you play for school.

Your flute is the one thing you took when you left which wasn't eEssential.

You never really played for anyone, claiming you had been switched out of the class. All the others there were experienced, some hacking made it seem like a computer error which had given you a music class in the first place.

Then you'd taught yourself, so to have someone praise it was nice. Really nice.

You don't know what you want more, contact or praise.

The fact you don't know worries you.

Even worse is the fact you think, if offered the choice between more praise and getting off, you'd ultimately choose the praise.

And you're not even bothering to hide it, even though you know that's Dangerous. If he knew that was what you wanted, wanted to the point it felt like a need, he could use it against you.

And not the useful-

He's talking again. Better listen. 

Hearing about your intelligence isn't really a compliment anymore. It's only use is in forcing other people to admit they need your help, that there's something, at least, somewhat useful and desirable about you.

And he's mentioning Wells and shit because he's right which means it's like you thought and it's just as much on you but he's reacted poorly to being told in the past and if he's willing to risk the city what might he do to you and he knows your secrets and-

Calm down.

That's an issue for later.

Cisco stopped at some point. You return to yourself, you had clenched your eyes shut at some point. You open them, blinking away and willing away the hints of tears.

Fuck.

He says your name and you nod.

"Do you want to stop?" He asks.

You stop and seriously consider it. Finally, you shake your head.

 That doesn't seem to content him. Of course not, that's another difference between the two of you. You worry when people answer instantly, thinking they didn't think it through and will regret it. He gets concerned when people take too long to answer-too long for him being shorter for him than most-thinking that if they had to think through the answer they didn't mean it.

He asks what triggered that. You heave a sigh, and finally speak to reassure him. "Nothing specific. Cisco, I’m fine.”

“You want me to keep going." That better be the last time he asks. You nod, thrusting your hips to empathize the point.

“Okay, just making sure. Sue me.”

He focuses on action as opposed to talking. You try to shut up the traitorous part of you that finds that disappointing.

“You also care about the lab rats. I see you feeding them and letting them play.” If you weren't so desperate for praise, you would make a shot asking who brings up rats during sex, Cisco, no one finds rats sexual. Sadly, you can't say the same for Wells, who he also brought up. So.

As it is, you'll take any praise you can get.

But you don't want him to know that. You manage a noise of annoyance or distance but you're pretty sure you're giving yourself away.

You'll deal with it later.

“You’re also good with people, when you want to be. Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you’re always the one giving tours to financial donors, or how you always manage to get them singing your praises and practically throwing money at us.”

You shouldn’t find that complementary. He’s only doing it to get something out of you. You aren’t the type of person who people freely compliment. They always want something. But still. Maybe, for just a minute, it’s Acceptable for you to pretend to believe it, pretend this is truly as no-strings attached as you wish it were.

You wish you didn’t wish that as strongly as you did.

You focus on the physical, before you go too far down that path. You can analyse this later. When you’re safely alone. Then you can plan your next course of action.

Then, he removes his hands, and fuck praise maybe this is what you want what you need and he’s whispering in your ear “Do you want to cum?”

And yes yes you do you want to you need to please please soon and “Right here, like this, in your pants? Without even being touched? Both of us almost fully dressed?”

Looks like he managed to help you find a new kink because fuck you don’t think you can handle this and you know the sounds you’re making are obscene and

For one moment, your mind clears.

Bliss.

Of course, it doesn’t last. You come back to, and open your eyes. Right. Cisco. You should probably see if-

No, he’s shaking his head. He clambers off you.

That’s probably the only benefit to this starting the way it did. You’d gotten him off enough times before actually getting the chance to think about it that by the time you were sober and able to think about it, you knew it’d be fine.

You take off your glasses and place them on the bedside table, then roll over to the other side of the bed, sparing a moment to wonder, as you always do, why he has a two person bed, before burying your face in the pillow, because you can’t bear to face him. Oh, he would be grinning if he could read your mind at that pun.

 He leaves and comes back in after a minute.

“C’mon, get up so you can get changed.”

You sit up reluctantly. You honestly just want to sleep. It's always easiest when in this haze.

He does practically everything, something you never seem to have the energy to complain about. You wouldn’t admit it, but honestly, it’s nice to keep pretending. Just for a bit. That’s he’s doing it out of concern for you, and not just because he wants things to be easier in the morning. Not that he’d ever outright say that he’s doing it for an easier morning, but it’s obvious. He hates _you,_ he couldn’t care less how you feel. You wonder if anyone could care less.

And you bury your face in the pillow again because fuck, here comes another freak out! But it’s fine, it’s normal, anyone would react the same way if everyone hated them, it’s the one way you’re normal you’re normal and you need to confront Doctor Wells and if anything happened and you’re being obvious and he knows he knows and you aren’t sure why you’re crying you have so many reasons and contain yourself and-

He’s running his fingers through your hair.

That’s good, that’s grounding and you think if you take a second you can breathe. At least you managed to remain silent.

At least you can do that.

But eventually it gets difficult to breathe again, not because you’re upset, you’ve mostly calmed down, but you’re finding it’s difficult to breathe into a pillow. So you turn over but now he can see you so you  bury his face in his chest.

And it takes you a second, because you forgot, but you don’t want to make him uncomfortable, he has enough reason to hate you. Before you can lift your head up, he puts a hand on your head and turns you both over so he’s on his back and continues playing with your hair, and you Appreciate that.

You wrap your arms around him.

The next day, your mood is all over the place. You manage to be Somewhat Nice to Ronnie and Wells, which is Good since they’re the two you see the most, but with everyone else it’s the flip of a coin so you sequester yourself in your office most of the day. You make sure to avoid Cisco, and change a few things around so you won’t be working with him for quite some time.

You don’t want to see him again, because you don’t know which would be worse-going through that again or acting like it never happened.

And talking about it is out of the question, even just having it happen once gave him far more against you than you feel comfortable with.

You manage to avoid him for a month or so, and then you confront Doctor Wells one final time with an ultimatum.

Then you have far greater concerns.

Though, despite your concerns, you can’t help but to wonder if things could have been different.

  
Then you decide it doesn’t matter. You don’t deserve it. You’re just a waste of oxygen.

**Author's Note:**

> The Cisco one felt unbalanced. Disclaimer that I'm way too ace for this and thus have no idea what I'm doing. Concrit welcome. Hartley should probably talk to someone. Hope people enjoyed?


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